


Petali

by Rhanon_Brodie (Glass_Jacket)



Category: Indie Music RPF, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Alex is topping, M/M, Miracle Aligner, One Shot, This is terrible, and i'm trash, and miles is okay with that, at least with each other, because they're switches anyway, but i gave them a Happily Ever After, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 02:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6885940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Jacket/pseuds/Rhanon_Brodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>One shot written after watching the video for Miracle Aligner twice.  These two have ruined me beyond repair, and I'm strangely comfortable with it. Quotes from Pablo Neruda, Jimi Hendrix, and Shakespeare.  I feel that by now TLSP are merely making videos to take the piss out of 'Milex'; after having a good laugh over Alex's hair and tan, and questionable dance moves, I decided to go for something a little more serious, in an attempt to take the piss out of them taking the piss out of themselves.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Petali

**Author's Note:**

> One shot written after watching the video for Miracle Aligner twice. These two have ruined me beyond repair, and I'm strangely comfortable with it. Quotes from Pablo Neruda, Jimi Hendrix, and Shakespeare. I feel that by now TLSP are merely making videos to take the piss out of 'Milex'; after having a good laugh over Alex's hair and tan, and questionable dance moves, I decided to go for something a little more serious, in an attempt to take the piss out of them taking the piss out of themselves.

_What is this?_

They’d been standing on that balcony for twelve takes already, industrial fans sending waves of cerise tissue petals floating overhead. They’d tried it with both of them standing, both of them sitting, then with Miles leaning and Alex sitting. Now, Miles is perched on the wide railing, long legs crossed at the ankles as he twirls a rose petal in his fingers and says again,

“What is this?”

It’s all to be overdubbed in Italian, but the question is valid regardless of the language. Alex, of course, lifts his head, all that dark hair in a series of waves that makes Miles bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. In an attempt to center himself he ignores the hair and concentrates on the eyes, two dark constants that have never changed, and he waits for Alex’s answer.

“This is an attempt,” Alex drawls, cocking an eyebrow up at Miles, “to extract the truth.” His mouth is a subtle curve and he can’t help but watch the fake petals swirl and flit down into the pocket of Miles’ shirt, slipping into the open collar, landing gently on lean thighs. Once more he affixes his gaze to Miles’ sharp hazel eyes, the safest, and most dangerous place, he’s ever known. “Approximately,” he tacks on at the end.

Miles can’t really hear what he says at the end; the fans have been humming and whirring and he’s ready to just be done with the day. It’s the last shot and his ass is numb from sitting up here on the ledge. The only thing that’s keeping him going is Alex’s conviction through all of this. The dancing, the pirouettes, the eye contact, Miles determines, are all just an elaborate plan to get him to crack, and he almost did at the end of the long shot, when Alex dragged him down to the floor.

They’d quickly stood, of course, and dusted themselves off, and prepared for the current shot.

“And...cut!”

They both hear it, but it has little effect on them. The rose petals continue to float around them, and their gazes are still fused to one another, some crackling heat of desire coming to the fore. The playback ends, and set assistants scurry about, and still the petals swirl and bounce and linger, flitting into Alex’s hair, brushing the back of Miles’ neck.

+

_What is this?_

They’re crammed into the small space of the trailer where they’d dressed, and that in itself had been a task and a half. With the makeup done and the hair teased, they’d been sent to don their pastel colours, Alex in pink (which has always been Miles’ favorite), and Miles in pastel blue slacks, making those spindly legs more defined in a way that makes Alex’s mouth go dry. Their hands were busy with buttoning up, as were their mouths, but their eyes were content to map over memorized dead ends and dangerous curves.

Now, however, with the shoot behind them, the wrap called, the film sent to print, there is no caution necessary - at least, that’s what Alex’s pulse is telling him. Miles can’t help but drag his gaze from Alex’s eyes to his lips, much like the beginning of the day, standing there under the sweltering pot light as the camera panned back and they waited for their cue. They stand just as close now, almost nose to nose, and Alex’s fingers slip into the back of Miles’ collar, fingering the delicate tissue of the fake petals, pulling them free and sweeping them down the side of Miles’ neck, and over his collarbone.

“What is this?” Miles breathes, his gaze still flickering, eyelashes fluttering at the softness of the petals and Alex’s touch.

Alex hums, watching the rise and fall of Miles’ chest as he breathes, and the way his throat moves as he speaks. “This is me trying to seduce you,” he chuckles, smiling broadly as Miles opens his eyes and stares down at Alex.

“You’ve got these everywhere,” Miles whispers, long fingers tucking into Alex’s dark waves and extracting an errant petal. He holds it up between them and Alex smiles and presses up on his toes, snatching it with his teeth, only to breathe it out and away with another huff of air.

“I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees,” Alex recites suggestively, finding another petal and sweeping it over Miles’ collarbone. He watches the bright pink graze the golden skin, gooseflesh rising in its wake, and he glances up again, noting once more how Miles can’t take his eyes off of him.

“Alex,” Miles exhales. He lets the smaller man press him back into the door that they’ve locked, and finds comfort in the hands holding his waist, the sharp nose pressed under his jaw. He cranes his head back, allowing Alex more access, and his hands come up to push into the thick, dark waves and tame them into some sort of sanity. That fleeting thought, of course, causes a giggle to bubble in Miles’ throat, and Alex makes a gasping sound and pulls back, eyeing Miles suspiciously.

“Wot,” he pouts.

“Nothin’,” Miles assures him, smiling. “You know I’m ticklish there,” he explains, hoping that Alex will buy the pithy excuse.

Alex smiles that smile that makes the corners of his eyes crease and he chuckles, the gravelly sound pulling Miles’ hips against his own. “Oh, I know, babeh,” he replies, his voice set to a dulcet timbre. He swoops in and flicks the tip of his tongue across Miles’ Adam’s apple, and the Scouser’s fingers tighten in his hair, a needy whine penetrating the silence of the space.

Alex’s lips find Miles’; the smaller man refuses to be cowed, and his intent is passionate, and aggressive. “What is this?” Alex whispers, sharp teeth snagging Miles’ bottom lip and tugging until the younger man groans and melts.

“This is you succeeding in your seduction.” Miles admits his defeat with how he sags against the door and lets Alex crawl up him.

“Hmmm, no, this is both of us,” Alex declares. “Like this? Together? We share success, Mi; I’m joost as susceptible to you as you are to me.” He pauses and fits his pelvis against Miles, knowing that the Scouser will be able to feel every inch of his love.

It makes Miles gasp, a lofty, breathy sound, and he laughs and nods and leans down, framing Alex’s face with both his hands before kissing him thoroughly. He pulls his fingers through Alex’s hair, lifts petals from his collar, and then the jacket slips from those narrow, sculpted shoulders. 

More petals litter the ground, and clothing, too; lips press as softly over the harsh scrape of stubble and the stubborn jut of bone and sinew. There’s a narrow couch, and that’s where Miles lands on his back, naked, with his arms full of Alex. The older man planting is kisses, stealing Miles’ breath at every turn, and Miles can only sink into it, noting the petals clinging to the dewy skin of Alex’s shoulders, and the errant ones that flit over his own thighs, Alex’s fingers and lips and tongue following closely after. They’re worse than glitter these petals, he thinks, worse than the sand from that last shoot that stuck everywhere and abraded every move and thought; these petals, he knows, will be pressed between finger and thumb, torn and tattered, and will fade with the delicacy of the moment.

+

_What is this?_

Miles arches beneath Alex, thighs splayed wide even as Alex grips them in his hands and holds him steady. The taller man utters a curse, looping around a moan, and he buries his hand into Alex’s damp hair, demanding another kiss, and another wicked plunge of hips. These times are rare, when Miles is game to lay back and let Alex take. 

“Now,” he’d gasped moments before as Alex had held them both in his grip, stroking a maddening beat that left them both shaking. The first breach had been daring, edging on the brink of burning pleasure, eclipsed by the rise of Alex’s shoulder as he moved over Miles, and swallowed whole by a kiss that left the older man trembling.

Their mouths are wet and cool, fingers turn to blazing iron claws that clutch and bind one to the other, and Miles is in a daze as Alex moves again, and again, “Oh _god_ , Alex!” Once more Miles arches, his throat exposed, ribs spread and heart ready for the taking.

Above him Alex shudders, and leans down to his elbows as Miles’ feet fit the curves of his calves. He frames that face he knows so well, crooked with kindness and breezy flair; if anything, Miles has grown more handsome with age, and Alex finds he has to stop himself like he has in this moment, and just stare in awe. Every twitch of his hips brings a new emotion flooding those misaligned features. The round eyes go wide, eyebrows spring up, and then that smile that makes the Alex’s insides melt, all flit to the surface to make the picture he’ll go back to again and again.

“Everythin’,” Alex huffs, thumbs pressing against Miles’ bottom lip before he kisses him softly. He rears up and over the prone body, feels those graceful hands glide down his ribs to hold his hips, and fills that last portion of emptiness in both his and Miles’ souls. “That’s what this is,” he pants, “what you are.”

Miles curses Alex’s pretty prose and the open windows those dark eyes are in this moment. Pressing a hand against Alex’s chest, Miles splays his fingers and counts the heartbeats in a desperate attempt to slow his. He’s not afraid to admit that he’s so close to the edge so quickly, but a day of being wrapped up in Alex and not being able to do anything about it will do that to him. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as Alex moves back a fraction, giving Miles a full-framed view of his body being filled by Alex. It thrills him to no end when in the next moment the top of Alex’s head is blocking his view, wanting to see for himself. Miles moans thickly and pushes his hips up to meet Alex’s thrust, and that in turn makes Alex’s head come back up, hair floating over his brow, and another dazzling smile on his lips.

Wrapping long legs around Alex’s waist, Miles scoops his hands under Alex’s arms, and then curves them over Alex’s shoulders, securing the smaller man to him. He growls against Alex’s ear and pushes his hips again, speeding their tempo; a key change in the middle of a well-loved ballad. Alex, of course, finds the harmony with little hesitation, falling against Miles, pressing their chests together as they growl and pant and whine into each other’s necks. Skin collides with skin, and hearts crash into one another; love pours with sweat. If there are tears, then they are borne of physical frustration, and the notion that they cannot get close enough to each other, and that they will not be satisfied.

+

_What is this?_

Alex has finished, coming hard and hot, plundering Miles’ senses with words that floated like the petals still clinging to them. Miles is still hard where he’s pressed between them, and Alex sits back, the agony of aftershocks wracking his body. He wants to go limp right there, fall asleep forever on Miles, but he will not leave his lover so unsatisfied. It doesn’t take much more than a well placed hand, pressure and time to create the pearly expulsion that is love on Alex’s lips and fingertips. Miles watches, his ears ringing as he comes apart in Alex’s hand, and Alex manages to find another smaller release, more emotional than anything, but nonetheless powerful.

Now Alex can go boneless, and he does so, tumbling helplessly onto Miles’ chest, petals and droplets of spent passion slicking between their skin. He once heard that no one thing can ever truly touch another; that there is always an invisible, minute electrical field between two things that renders this impossible. He likes to think that he and Miles have the formula to destroy that barrier, and that no one else knows the secret of being able to touch like this. 

Beneath him Miles shudders and gulps for air, fingers twining into Alex’s hair, waves pulled loose and soft. His thighs are shaking as he clings to Alex, and he pulls the man above him up to kiss, soft and endless, memorizing every taste and texture until they’re together again.

“I think,” Miles sighs, “that you’ve managed to extract the truth all over the place.” He gives a little wiggle, making the wetness between them slide and make a sticky sound.

Alex giggles, the sound vibrating through his body and into Miles’, and soon they’re both laughing breathlessly as their hands slide up and down along limbs previously overlooked. With a kiss to Miles’ chest, Alex raises his head and softly poses the question of the day. “What is this?”

“Hmm,” Miles replies, pondering the question. He cracks a crooked grin down to where Alex has his chin pressed to Miles’ chest. “May this be love.” His fingers toy with a petal on Alex’s shoulder and lets it drift down out of sight.

Closing his eyes, Alex nods and then lays his head down, ear over the gentle beat of Miles’ heart. Taking another breath, he replies, “And not a stolen season.”

~end~


End file.
